Page 86 of Winters Heat

She walked into the bathroom. Private room or not, the bathroom still had a hospital feel. Institutional gray tile covered the floor and wall. The overhead florescent lights hummed when she flipped the switch. A stack of bleached towels were piled on a counter next to a hospital thermos, plastic-wrapped cups, and toiletries.

Mia slid her clothes off and into a pile on the floor, then stared at the oversized mirror. Dirt streaked her face, arms, and neck. Scabs and bug bites decorated her skin with varying shades of red. Her hair was a giant rat’s nest. And good Lord, she smelled like things she didn’t even want to think about ever again.

Mia unwrapped the plastic from a comb and started at the bottom of a handful of hair. She picked and picked and picked. With each methodical stroke, the knots tore, strands floated to the floor, but her hair made no progress. Her arms ached. Frustrated, she put the comb down. Its bristles were not straight and pristine anymore. They were bent, like the comb had given up, too.

She twisted the shower knobs. Scalding water ran into a nearby drain, steam floated into the sterile bathroom. Mia adjusted the temperature from scalding to dirt-melting. She hooked her clothes with a toe and tossed them into a trash can, stepped under the cascading water, and pulled the curtain around her.

Soul-soothing water crashed over her. It dulled the aches and pains, made her sunburn sting, and eased the torment of the itchy bug bites. All in all, Nirvana, but she refused to look at the dirty water swirling down the drain.

Somehow in her hypnotic trance, Mia heard a quick rap on the door. “Hi, Mia. Just dropping off some scrubs for you. I saw your lunch order. Thank you. Need anything else? Snacks, munchies?”

Snacks? This was like a hospital with a hotel concierge. How much money did Titan pour into this place?

“Do you have any Dots?”

Her chipper chatter replied from around the corner. “I’ll see what we can do,” the nurse said from around the corner. “I’ll be back.”

Colby would appreciate a box of Dots when he woke up.

She was far past burnt out and exhausted to the point of debilitation. After shampooing her hair, she dumped the entire travel-sized bottle of conditioner into her hair and finger combed it. More progress than with the plastic comb but still a dismal mess. She didn’t care. She needed sleep. Bad.

She dried off, slipped on the scrubs, and found a cot piled high with blankets. She’d never seen something so enticing. A few steps later, and Mia was burrowed in. Soft pillows and blankets, all stinking like bleach, but it didn’t matter. Sleep beckoned, but her wandering mind kept it a finger’s distance away. Would she have nightmares filled with bombs reverberations, knives against her throat, and the evil, accented threats of a monster?

Yeah, she would.

But Colby would wake up and kiss away her fears. He’d love her until she relaxed. She knew he would. There was something special about him. And she loved him. That was enough to drive away the nightmares.

Warm shudders ripped through her. A sweet smile hung limp. It was her first smile in days. She loved him. The realization thawed fears of family and commitment. How could she possibly not want them—him and Clara—in her life?

Memories of the Colombian carnage would dissolve. She couldn’t wait until he woke up. She had to know what he’d say when she covered him in kisses, confessing how much he meant in her life.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Bright lights seared his retinas as Winters blinked awake. He blinked again. This wasn’t the same view as when he went to sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He felt starched sheets that itched. An antiseptic smell registered as hospital-like. He blinked again. Definitely in a hospital.

His tongue felt furry and dry. When he opened and closed his mouth, it made a spit-less sound. He surveyed the blankets tucked tight around the length of his body except where his left arm stuck out, an IV inserted and secured with tape. The dirt and blood that he remembered was gone. He stretched his hand, and worked his fist. Even his fingernails were clean.

Winters scanned the empty room. The private suite, vitals monitor, IV bag, and furniture were decidedly not Colombian. The television played the nighttime news in silence. Muted and American. A whiteboard on the wall said his doctor’s name was Tuska, his nurse’s name was Sandy, and his tech’s name was Jeremy. He had no idea how it happened, but he was back on US soil.

A white remote with blue buttons lay next to his blanket-covered mid-section. He grabbed it and gave it a once over. Basic and in English. Television controls. Bed controls. A nurse call button. He pushed a button and rose to a sit. His mouth was still disgustingly dry. He blinked several times more to clear the cobwebs and focused on the television.

If that date and time in the corner of the news program were correct, he’d missed several days. Somehow, he left a shanty shack in South America and made it back to somewhere in the United States.

Winters pushed the call button for the nurse. He tried to swallow again and ran his tongue over his teeth. A nasty, gritty film said it’d been too many days since a toothbrush had been anywhere near his mouth. He pulled his other arm from the blanket and brushed his hands over his face, finding a beard.

A nurse walked in, chipper and bubbling to talk. He wasn’t in the mood for either.

“Mr. Winters, it’s so wonderful to see you awake. We’ve been waiting on you. How are you—”

“Where am I?” A rough, unused edge in his throat made him cough.

She handed him a large container of water with a straw. “Thought you might be thirsty. You’re at the hospital—”

“Where? What hospital? Am I in the United States?”

Her eyes widened. She took a step back. He needed to ease up his method of interrogation, or he’d have to find another nurse.

“Uh, um, yes. You’re outside Washington, DC. Do you know—”

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